


Wait for me on the other side

by triplezzz



Category: NINE PERCENT (Band), 偶像练习生 | Idol Producer (TV)
Genre: M/M, Time Loop, shout out to my fellow zhengchens folks I know this ship is dead but I love them still, this was supposed to be plotty and serious™ I have no idea what happened
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-29
Updated: 2018-05-29
Packaged: 2019-05-15 09:09:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14787620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/triplezzz/pseuds/triplezzz
Summary: Zhengting might be prideful, but he’s not one to toot horns he doesn’t possess. He’s terrible at this survival stuff. If they were characters in a movie, he would be the useless sidekick to Yanchen’s superhero.(A story where Zhengting dies, over and over again. Luckily, he has Yanchen by his side.)(Aka my attempt at writing serious plot which inevitably turns into a romcom halfway down the line. I tried.)





	Wait for me on the other side

_Those who die bearing strong feelings of regret are bound to this realm._

_Their souls are unable to travel to the other world._

_As long as the mind bears those sentiments, the soul continues to suffer._

_For all eternity. Never ending._

_Until the sorrow disappears._

_Until the regret disappears._

_This is the fate of those who have left this world with regrets._

 

* * *

 

  

Yanchen looks exactly the same as when they had first met. So does Zhengting, says Yanchen, when Zhengting tells him so. Then Zhengting is bending over, until his cheeks touch his knees and the blood pressure stretches taut the skin around his face. He rises up and Yanchen has slid halfway down the seat, expression not much different from his own. They both look crazy this way, mouths locked in gapes, laughter echoing in the closed space. Maybe they really are.

 

It hurts, it hurts well, and Zhengting feels great indulging in the momentary high. It seems like a long time since he last laughed this hard.

 

He shifts a little to the left to make room for Yanchen. It’s an unnecessary move because Yanchen goes to lean his weight on Zhengting; pressing to his side until their hips connect and tapping his chin on Zhengting’s sagging shoulder. The air rushes into Zhengting’s lungs to gush out in humid chuckles. Yanchen quickly wipes his face on Zhengting’s sleeve, but he’s grinning too. The conclusion of today will be a repeat of previous ones, Zhengting thinks, and minds not the slightest bit. They need a break, that’s why, Zhengting whispers on Yanchen’s hair. Sit back and relax.

 

They’re going to do nothing to change anything today.

 

How many times, Zhengting has stopped trying to count. He only holds on to the glint in Yanchen’s eyes when he talks – to his voice, fond and dreamy, a faraway spectator of the past.

 

In his sight the forest meets the sky in a line of mist. Zhengting looks at Yanchen and smiles. They’re holding hands. He doesn’t know who initiates, but it doesn’t matter.

 

One second. Two seconds. Any moment now.

 

The tower shakes, whipping the ropes above them. Their car collides into another and the wind pierces in as windows shatter. Tiny glass shards fall around them. It feels like a blizzard.

 

Butterflies in his stomach, but he can’t tell from which it came – the plunge, or the gentle press of Yanchen’s lips on his.

 

The grip on his hand is tight as Zhengting falls to his death. Together, it says.

 

He has always loved the winter.

 

<< 

<< 

<< 

 

0

 

At dawn the port hums with machinery underneath soft instrumental music. The people are scarce, scattered around rows of empty benches. Each of them waits alone.

 

Zhengting is no exception. In his pockets are a cell phone, one-way ticket and its loose change. An automated voice informs of the next batch of cars approaching. He pushes up with his hands, carefully shifting the weight to his right leg, and walks into the nearest line.

 

There’s a pair of feet when the door slides open, so he takes the corner seat on the opposite side. Nobody steps in for the following minute. The door clamps shut and the car bumps forward as the rope starts moving. He leans his forehead on the window. Outside is a stretch of muted blue and dark green. The mountain looms close, yet he knows it will take another couple of hours before the car reaches its final station. Zhengting closes his eyes and puts his thoughts to rest.

 

A blunt force to his body jolts him awake. Disorientation costs him a few seconds to realise he has been thrown on his back. He tries to sit up, but the car shakes again and rolls him to the floor.

 

“Hold on to something!” someone yells, and Zhengting grapples blindly at the walls. He’s pulled up by the arm onto an empty seat and barely hangs on when the car jerks into a steep tilt.

 

Before he could ask what is happening, the car in front crashes into theirs and dents the wall upon impact. It propels them swinging backward. The added force becomes much too large for the pulley, and it snaps, detaching their car from the rope.

 

The last thing Zhengting sees is the face of the other passenger, looking back at him in a petrified stare. Then the world rolls into a blur and fades to black.

 

Familiar music plays in his ear. He dreams of dancing in the dark.

 

 

1

 

A rush of air burns his chest as he takes his first gasp. The light inside is blinding yet his eyes refuse to close, locked in contact with the person across him.

 

“Did you–”

 

Zhengting hurls out the breath he’s been holding, nodding frantically. The stranger – the other passenger – rubs a hand over his mouth. Then his eyes dart around, compelling Zhengting to follow suit.

 

His hand trembles as he caresses the metal wall behind him. It’s smooth and cold to the touch. There’s not even a single scratch, but the phantom pain aches all over his body.

 

“We’re still alive, right?”

 

He looks at the stranger, barely keeping himself together.

 

“Because I swear we fell down, I-I felt it! You did too, you were… you were there,” he croaks, words beginning to falter. His gaze is pleading, desperate. For what, Zhengting doesn’t know. He doesn’t think his answer is one the stranger wants to hear.

 

“…Yes.”

 

He hears the stranger sigh, but a beat later he’s standing up, turning around to observe through the window. The cable car is still moving steadily forward, swaying ever so slightly in midair, ropes securely turning above. Zhenting watches him take out his phone. His fingers, ready to swipe, stop in motion as a perplexed look takes over his face.

 

“What’s wrong?”

 

“Nothing,” he says after a prolonged pause. “I can’t get any signal.”

 

Zhengting quickly turns on his phone and sure enough, a tiny x marks the muted bars on the top right corner of the screen. “Me too.”

 

“Do you know how long it’ll be until the next station?”

 

“I’m not sure.” He bites his lips. The mountain gives a rough judgement, still, it’s the only one he has. “We’re probably halfway there.”

 

The stranger slumps back on his seat. He starts tapping on his knees. His form is tight with anxiety, and Zhengting is just as unsettled, but exhaustion catches up to him and it’s getting harder to shake away. He finds himself tuning in to the rhythmic movements of those fingers. His senses dull, lulled by repetition.

 

He doesn’t know how much time has passed since he zones out, but the next second is merciless in its alert.

 

He manages to grab onto a handle after the first bump and quickly crawls his way to the other side. The stranger’s string of panicked curses halts when the loud crash slams him to the wall. They swing up, up, and snap goes the pulley, throwing them into a short suspension in midair before everything accelerates down to the earth.

 

 

2

 

“We need to get out of here,” is the first thing Zhengting hears when he regains consciousness.

 

“It’s going to happen again, the crash, the fall, it’s repeating all over again!”

 

The car continues in its path against the wind, unrelenting to the thumping of the stranger’s fist on its walls. No matter how hard he refuses to let the words sink, everything he lands his eyes on goes again the rationale.

 

The stranger falls to his knees, his phone clattering to the floor.

 

“It went back.”

 

Zhengting tries to stop his shaking hands and dares a glance at him.

 

“The time.” His hairline is red from the harsh grips he has on his hair, the vein in his forehead popping and his jaws clenching. “I boarded at three. Reached the next station, your station, at three forty. Now is five past four. I thought something was wrong with my phone, but we really went back in time. Again.”

 

His last word drills its way into Zhengting’s brain, and the dread nearly paralyses him. It’s already the second time. He has died twice. He’s going to die again if he stays doing nothing.

 

Pursued by fear, he scans for something, anything that could possibly break the window. In the middle of the left wall, near the ceiling, is a glaring red sticker he wonders how he could’ve possibly missed. Jumping on his feet, Zhengting pulls the lever to reveal a small button and smashes it with his palm.

 

Their car skids into an instant stop, and although he’s been thrown yet again to the floor, this time Zhengting welcomes it with a bark of laughter. The stranger eyes him, astonished.

 

“What did you do?”

 

“I pressed it,” he says breathlessly, pointing up at the emergency button.

 

The stranger whips his head and lets out an incredulous scoff. “I can’t believe I didn’t see that.”

 

“Me neither,” Zhengting laughs, and the stranger joins him.

 

Soon they’re back to their respective seats, across each other, and after a few glances the stranger finally speaks. “So what’s your name? I’m Zhou Yanchen.”

 

“Oh, Zhu Zhengting. Nice to meet you.” He offers his hand, and Yanchen chuckles as he goes to shake it.

 

“Likewise. The circumstances aren’t ideal, but I thought it’d be good to know the only person who can assure me that I’ve not gone mental.”

 

Zhengting responds with an amused huff. “I don’t think anybody else would believe us.”

 

“Even I still find it hard to believe,” Yanchen confesses, looking away. It’s something they both agree with.

 

“…What are we going to say? When the help comes, I mean.”

 

“I can fake being sick, I guess? Or just pretend to faint. Or you can be the one to do it, since you keep falling asleep.”

 

The little smile tells him it’s a harmless jest. Still doesn’t prevent the heat from rising to his cheek.

 

“I’m wide awake now,” he mumbles a little defensively. Yanchen gives him another short laugh.

 

“Hey, it’s okay to be tired. You can sleep if you want.” His stance is relaxed and so is his smile – a world away from the man he was not long ago. It saps away the tension in Zhengting’s shoulders.

 

*

 

There are hands around his body. He’s being lifted upright, still boneless but the fog is quickly clearing from his mind. Yanchen meets his eyes and tells him it’s alright as rescue workers strap him to one of their own. They begin descending by ropes, and by the time they reach the ground a stretcher is waiting for him.

 

Inside the truck, he plays up his fatigue and answers absentmindedly, watching Yanchen get bombarded with questions. It’s hard not to crack a smile, so Zhengting closes his eyes and opts to feign sleep.

 

It doesn’t last long. Through the forest the ride is bumpy, but its constant vibration transitions into a tremor growing bigger by the second. The very ground underneath them is crumbling. It’s an earthquake – of course it has always been. Zhengting jolts up, brain going a mile away berating his stupidity, but it’s already too late. The truck lurches, hitting a tree, swallowed into the cracks of the earth.

 

 

3

 

He gulps the air around him greedily, desperately filling his lungs with what had become a luxury. Instead of the abrupt fall and instant death, the taste of soil burned his tongue and throat as he slowly suffocated. No matter how many times he inhales, it still feels like he’s stuck under the bed, buried alive beneath the earth.

 

The car swerves around as the rope stops moving, but Zhengting is already crouching on the floor and registers nothing until a pair of arms shakes his frame.

 

“Hey, hey, look at me. Look at me. We’re up. We’re back up. You’re fi–” The word cuts off, eyes hesitate, but Zhengting is finally looking at him and so Yanchen firms his grips on the trembling shoulders and tells him, “You’re back now.”

 

Moments tick away in silence. The wound up tension leaks out of Zhengting in a prolonged wail.

 

When his sobs have subsided, replaced by weary resignation, Yanchen carefully starts speaking.

 

“I pressed it immediately. They should be coming sooner. We’ll warn them of the earthquake, and then we’ll get out of here. We’ll make it this time.”

 

His voice is firm, convincing. But every inch of Zhengting’s body has lost its strength, so he could only bury his face deeper in the folds of Yanchen’s jacket, subconsciously finding comfort in the embrace they’ve somehow tangled into.

 

They’re sitting side by side when the rescuers arrive, having forgone the seats, slumped against the metal wall and on each other. Yanchen immediately lurches up, words already spilling past his lips in rapid chunks. They don’t believe him. Zhengting can see it in the way they exchange exasperated looks, although the guy Yanchen is hounding tries to pacify him anyway, promising a swift exit.

 

Minutes later, they’re lowered to the ground and into the truck. The fifth time Yanchen pesters the driver to go faster, Zhengting grabs his hand and gives him a solemn stare.

 

“You’re going to get killed even before the earthquake starts.”

 

It takes a second of shocked silence before Yanchen unexpectedly bursts out laughing. Zhengting jerks back slightly. The glare from the rescuer right opposite them grows even more piercing, and Zhengting feels his face burning despite not being the one his anger is directed at.

 

“They probably think you’re mental,” he murmurs again once Yanchen’s laughter has stopped.

 

“Oh, they definitely do.”

 

He doesn’t understand how Yanchen could still smile in this situation, the same way he doesn't understand himself for thinking the guy has got a very nice smile. It provides a good distraction, at least until the telltale shake of an earthquake begins.

 

“Shit,” Yanchen curses, “It’s starting.”

 

The rescuers look at him. He raises his volume. “It’s only gonna get worse from now on. We need to get out of the forest. Asap.”

 

“How long ‘til we get to the station?” one of them asks, eyes never leaving Yanchen.

 

“Fifteen minutes,” answer the driver.

 

“…Make it five.”

 

The ride is rough, their vehicle almost toppling over a few times, but they make it to the station in what has to be record time, if one of the rescuers barfing beside him is any indication. Nobody has the time to be grossed out, because as the quaking grows in magnitude, the situation has descended into a panic.

 

“Don’t run out! Get under the seats, cover yourselves! Stop running!”

 

The rescuers’ instructions get swallowed in the midst of all the crying and screaming. Zhengting narrowly avoids a group of men dashing in his direction to get to the car park. Something snatches his arm, and Zhengting stumbles to follow Yanchen as the man pulls him into the station.

 

He tries to pay no heed to the fractures starting to line up the floor and instead focuses on the face right across of his own. They’re lying under the benches, so close to one another he can feel Yanchen’s breath hitting his cheeks in quick puffs. The shaking ground makes it increasingly difficult to keep his gaze steady, but the desperation in Yanchen’s eyes makes for a stronger pull. As if saying something. As if wanting to tell him.

 

Before Zhengting can ask him what, a weight crushes his body; so great and so sudden he could only hear the cracks without ever feeling it.

 

 

4

 

“The building collapsed?”

 

It was supposed to be earthquake-resistant, or at least that was what one of the rescue workers told them when Yanchen insisted on going to the city instead of back to the station.

 

“I… looks like it did. I died immediately,” Zhengting answers. He breathes out a sigh, and pauses. The fact that he sounds–that he genuinely feels grateful over a quick demise hits him like a ball to the stomach. He rubs his hands roughly over his face, taking a minute to compose himself.

 

Another sigh, a quiet moment, and then he’s standing up to slam the emergency button and looks back at Yanchen.

 

“We need another plan.”

 

>> 

 

10

 

It takes them seven attempts to succeed in seizing the truck, since neither desperate begging nor threatening words worked in convincing the rescuers to keep away from the station. After one too many deaths by suffocation – underneath a pile of trees, inside a truck buried in soil, trapped beneath the rubble – Zhengting finally agrees to Yanchen’s proposition. Which is how he finds himself driving for the first time ever while Yanchen sits beside him, giving instructions while nursing his bleeding hands.

 

“This is a bad idea,” he yells out at the third three they nearly crash into. “I’m breaking the glass next time.”

 

“We got restrained and beaten up when you were the one initiating the attack. _Twice_ ,” Yanchen adds when he sees Zhengting trying to protest. “Let’s just hope there won’t be any next time, alright. Besides, you’re doing fine. It’s the earthquake, not your driving.”

 

Zhengting would have laughed if he isn’t too preoccupied in keeping car accident off the growing list of his cause of deaths. “You’re a bald-faced liar.”

 

They make it out of the forest after a few close calls, a lifetime’s worth of screaming on Zhengting’s part and lots of yelling and cackling on Yanchen’s part. Zhengting thanks all the gods and deities he could think of for the deserted road, because while he might have committed felony he really doesn’t want to be a murderer. Yanchen laughs at him, again, but the sound quickly dies in his throat when he catches a glimpse outside the window.

 

“What is it?” Zhengting asks, nerves on edge. A thunderous boom gets him flinching his eyes shut for a moment. He doesn’t dare to see.

 

“…The tower just fell.”

 

The answer has him stepping on the gas pedal with more force, eager to leave everything behind. Yanchen is still staring out of the window. He only looks back in front when a huge bump rattles the whole truck, in time to see Zhengting smashing his head on the steering wheel.

 

“That came out of nowhere!” shouts Zhengting. Several more bumps and cracks appear on the road before them, toppling the truck over before he has the chance to brake.

 

They’re scrambling to get out of the truck when the pavement collapses and gravity pulls everything along with it down below.

 

 

11

 

“I guess there are cases when it’s better to let the bridge stays uncrossed,” Yanchen quips.

 

And Zhengting is so, so exhausted, but the chuckles that spill past his lips hold a certain kind of mirth. “I’m breaking the glass this time.”

 

“Actually, there might be no need to break any glass at all.”

 

Zhengting tilts his head.

 

“The building didn’t collapse. The tower fell onto it.” Yanchen knock his knuckle on the window, pointing to one of the towers sustaining the cable car ropes. “We were unfortunate enough to be under the area of the fall when we took shelter there, but the station is massive, you see, so–”

 

“There should be a safe space somewhere.”

 

“Correct.”

 

The snap of Yanchen’s fingers is loud and satisfying to the ear. It sounds a little bit like hope.

 

Still, theory is always easier than the practical.

 

>> 

 

14

 

When the deafening rumble of the falling tower dies down and Zhengting opens his eyes to the same surroundings he saw seconds ago, body intact and unhurt, Yanchen is grinning at him, gripping his hands even tighter the tips of his fingers turn white. It’s hard not to smile along despite the ongoing disaster.

 

“Fourth time’s the charm,” Yanchen says, voice resonating in the makeshift cave of benches.

 

They hold on to each other as the earth quakes, as the ground shakes, until it subsides into a tremble.

 

“I think it’s stopped.”

 

Few people have crawled out of their hiding place. Zhengting is reluctant to do so, but Yanchen rolls away from the benches and stands.

 

“We need a car. Don’t worry, I’ll drive this time,” he jokes, offering a hand to help Zhengting up.

 

Instead of taking it, Zhengting tackles Yanchen’s feet. Shoving him away from the chunk of ceiling accelerating down. He hears faint cries of his name, rapidly getting louder. The pain almost robs him of his consciousness. Reality isn’t so merciful, however.

 

“Go,” he coughs out, laughing when his vision clears. Yanchen has a very amusing horrified face. “You better survive.”

 

Yanchen’s face falls even further. He looks like he’s about to say something, but then he rises from his crouching position and runs away. Zhengting smiles, swallowing the blood in his mouth.

 

Hardly a minute later, familiar grunts swim around his head. He peels his eyes open to see Yanchen using some sort of plank to dispose the slab of stone on top of him.

 

“Stop, Yanchen, just go. I’m pretty sure my spine is shattered. I’m not going to make it. Leave me be.”

 

“I won’t.”

 

He sounds almost angry. Zhengting has no idea why.

 

“Yanchen, hey, look at me. Go. Now.” It’s as if the guy has turned deaf, paying no attention at all to Zhengting’s croaks.

 

If he lets his eyes close just one more time, Zhengting is sure the next time he opens them he’ll be back inside the cable car. It’s tempting, and he’s so very sleepy, but pebbles and dust start raining around them. So he musters up the last bits of his will into his chest and shouts as loud as he can.

 

“You’re not throwing away your chance! Don’t make everything we’ve done to get to this point be meaningless. Please, Yanchen.”

 

At last Yanchen glances at him, and he has that look again, the one he wore the first time they made it to the station. Only this time much more painful to look at.

 

“I’m not leaving you behind.”

 

 

15

 

The silence stretches thick between them. No one has made a move, not even to press the button.

 

“Zhengting–”

 

“You should’ve left me,” he cuts, not wanting to give Yanchen a chance to speak before he can ask him. “Why?”

 

No answer. Zhengting expects it, somehow. He lets his head roll back and thud against the wall.

 

“Next time, if it ever happens again, I’ll kill myself before I drag you with me.”

 

“I won’t let you do it.” Yanchen’s reply is sharp and swift. It only serves to rage him further.

 

“Stop!” His own ears are ringing from the shrillness of his scream, but Zhengting makes no pause. “There’s _nothing_ left for me! Not a single damn thing. Not anymore.”

 

It’s the first time he sees Yanchen truly taken aback by his words. Zhengting laughs, derisive. “You don’t get it…”

 

“Thirteen years. For thirteen years, I’ve dedicated my life to one thing. Ever since I was nine, my whole world revolves only around it.”

 

Flashes of memories pass by his eyes. One in particular has been playing endlessly at the back of his mind, regardless of how much he tries to shun it.

 

“I was preparing for my graduation performance. Practicing. One wrong landing and it’s over, just like that.”

 

It started out like any other session. Warm-ups he could’ve done with eyes closed, movements he’d gone through thousands of times before. Sleep deprivation is an old friend; what difference does a few hours make to a pile of countless more?

 

Injuries – not a part of his body has been spared from it. A lapse of concentration. A tear on top of an old wound. A split second is all it takes to end everything.

 

“I have nothing to go back to,” he tells Yanchen, smile hanging on his face. Empty.

 

Ever so slowly, Yanchen tears his eyes away from his left foot. He’s never once asked about the limp in his leg, and while Zhengting was grateful for it, he wishes Yanchen wasn’t such a tactful person. Wasn’t such an upright, good man, with bright eyes, bright smile and brighter future ahead of him. Maybe the revelation wouldn’t hurt as much as it does – wouldn’t make Zhengting feel nothing less than downright pathetic.

 

“That’s a lie.”

 

“…What?”

 

“You fought. You were fighting for your life.”

 

The unwavering glare Yanchen fixes him with pricks up his dying anger. “Well that’s because this world refuses to let me stay dead!”

 

“I’m not talking about this… situation we’re trapped in.”

 

Zhengting feels the creases on his face deepen. His head is throbbing furiously with the desperation to end this conversation. “What are you talking ab–”

 

“You cushioned my fall,” Yanchen bellows. “You were bleeding everywhere, but you were still breathing.”

 

He jerks away when Yanchen makes a grab at his arm, reflexively forming a fist, but Yanchen is faster and in a blink the man has him cornered to the wall, hand over his fist pressing it to his chest. In this distance, Yanchen’s trembling is easy to see and easier to feel.

 

“You were grasping at my shirt. Like this. I had to peel your hand off, finger by finger,” he swallows, trying to keep his voice steady. “Then I ran away. I left you.”

 

Everything stops altogether – the ringing in his ears, the struggle, the tension in his limbs. His senses boil down to the despair in Yanchen’s glassy eyes, so familiar, yet now that he finally knows the reason behind it Zhengting is riddled with more questions than answers.

 

“I didn’t make it much further.” There’s a catch in his throat, a few silent attempts before he manages to choke out a weak laugh. “You know that myth, of your life flashing before your eyes moments before you die? All I could think of was the look in your eyes before they closed. Your hand gripping over my heart. That if I hadn’t abandoned you, maybe we could’ve even survived together.”

 

Regret permeates through his skin, so thick and potent it hurts Zhengting too.

 

“That’s what most people would do… I don’t–I’ll never blame you.”

 

“I know. But I will.”

 

It’s exasperating – an endless string of sentences forms in Zhengting’s head from how foolish he thinks Yanchen is being. They all die in his throat when Yanchen lifts his head back up to stare straight at him.

 

“That’s why I’ll never leave you behind. Not again.”

 

The words are spoken with the kind of finality that’s uncontested, but his eyes are tender. He hasn't let go of Zhengting’s hand.

 

“We do it together.”

 

>> 

 

23

 

When left with nothing but another company, it’s inevitable that people engage in communication to pass time.

 

Through the intervals they spend stuck waiting together, he’s learned more about Yanchen than the classmates he spends almost four years with. It says a lot about the kind of mindset with which he marched through university.

 

The past – a timeline Yanchen holds so dearly. He has decided not to think about it altogether. That it was futile to torture himself over something he has no chance of ever changing. Nevertheless, being numb is not something that comes voluntarily. As is bad memories.

 

The faces are a blur, mingling into one another. What’s as clear as day is the shift in tone, the change in their eyes as looks of envy turn into pity.

 

“Zhengting?”

 

He blinks, and the faceless eyes disappear. Yanchen sits in front of him, a hint of concern in his voice. Zhengting feels hatred bubble inside him. Horribly misdirected, he’s aware. Doesn’t mean he can help it.

 

Instead of speaking, Yanchen clasps his shoulder and pats his back. Silently. Smilingly. Just like that, the heat disperses and Zhengting is left with a tingling trace of warmth on his skin.

 

>> 

 

27

 

“You know what? Let’s just sleep this time. I’m tired.”

 

Yanchen stares at him for seconds too long. It’s more than enough to get Zhengting to turn away, flustered and guilty and feeling stupid. Usually. The him now only meets Yanchen’s eyes unblinkingly.

 

“Okay. I’m not very sleepy though.”

 

Zhengting reaches for his hand and pulls him to lie together on the floor. “Then just accompany me.”

 

“…Okay.”

 

It doesn’t take long for him to drift, Yanchen’s heartbeat lulling him away. It’s the warmest he has felt in forever.

 

>> 

 

It becomes an unspoken routine, whenever a streak of failures grows too long to simply brush away, exhaustion too heavy to ignore.

 

Sometimes they sleep. Sometimes they talk. One time Zhengting cards his fingers through Yanchen’s hair as he listens to stories about his past. One time Yanchen presses his palms tight around Zhengting’s back as he sobs for his lost future. It always ends with them drawing their last breaths locked in each other’s arms.

 

>> 

 

44

 

Out of all the repetitions and variations they’ve gone through, Zhengting belatedly realises he has never been the one to last further.

 

He’s down on his knees, rooted to the same spot at the edge of the crater where the concrete collapsed minutes ago.

 

“Yanchen,” he shrieks into the hole. The absence of light makes it seem endless – makes it easy to pretend the sickening thud he heard wasn’t of a body hitting the basement floor. So he calls out, again, and again.

 

A particularly strong quake throws him off balance and sends him rolling across the debris. He doesn’t recall much of what happens afterwards, body moving on its own, trudging mindlessly. All he remembers is feeling thoroughly lost before darkness comes to relieve him.

 

45

 

When he wakes up and sees Yanchen – whole, intact, alive and breathing as he has seen him so many times before, Zhengting doesn’t think twice before launching himself onto the man.

 

“Wow, what’s this?” In spite of the surprise in his voice, Yanchen’s arms naturally wrap around Zhengting.

 

“You’re not allowed to die before me, ever again.”

 

A few seconds tick by. Zhengting is forced to let go when the car fills with Yanchen’s laughter.

 

“Good,” he huffs in between chuckles. “You get it now.”

 

Zhengting furrows his eyebrows in puzzlement. “Get what?”

 

“How I feel.”

 

The answer sets the frown deeper into his face. It shouldn’t be. It’s different, in his case. Yanchen is his anchor, if this timeless world could ever have one. Zhengting might be prideful, but he’s not one to toot horns he doesn’t possess. He’s terrible at this survival stuff. If they were characters in a movie, he would be the useless sidekick to Yanchen’s superhero.

 

“Hey. I’m offended on your _and_ my behalf. You might be too loud sometimes, but I do enjoy your company.”

 

The jibe earns Yanchen a loud smack, which pulls out of him another big laugh, followed by an attempt to tickle Zhengting to death. The bleak sky is a constant reminder of the sunless loop they’ve been thrown into, but for now, everything feels right.

 

>> 

 

56

 

“Do you want to dance?”

 

Zhengting stares at the open palm hovering over his lap. He then tilts his head to the side, meeting Yanchen’s face.

 

On the empty seat opposite them, soft jazz tune plays from the speaker of his phone. It had been unconscious on his part, but Yanchen must’ve caught him swaying to the music.

 

“It mightn’t have been my college major, but I did go through a few years’ worth of classes,” Yanchen tries again, waving his palm. Zhengting can see the movement from the corner of his eye – still trained on Yanchen – and decidedly ignores it.

 

“I know, you told me. The same day I told you I did traditional Chinese dance. Which is vastly different from,” he gestures vaguely across, “ballroom dancing. Shocking, I know.”

 

Undeterred by the sarcasm, Yanchen only shifts closer to him until they’re pressed from shoulders to thighs. His hand is still stretched in an invitation, fingers wriggling. Zhengting would’ve rolled his eyes had Yanchen not hauled him to his feet and twirled him around in the span of one breath.

 

The music drowns into scarcely audible background between the exclamations, snickers and giggles swirling within the car. It sways slightly in midair under the weight of their movements, as if dancing along.

 

They stop after tripping over each other’s feet for the nth time, legs intertwined as one drags another to fall into a heap on the floor.

 

Zhengting is heaving from exertion and laughter, head squeezed into the crook of Yanchen’s shoulder when a whisper freezes the smile on his face.

 

“You’re free to do it, you know. Nothing’s going to hold you back.”

 

The euphoria clears as quickly as it came; because what Yanchen says should be true, but he can still feel the weight clasped tight around his ankles.

 

>> 

 

63

 

They’re high from adrenaline the first time it happens, still half in disbelief. Hugging, jumping and spinning around – mindless to the pile of rubbles and dented car around them. Yanchen’s hands slide from his shoulders to grab at his face, and the next thing Zhengting feels is a pair of chapped lips against his own.

 

It’s not the light, shy touch he imagines doing sometimes, in the few tranquil moments they’ve stolen. The press on his lips is insistent and a little painful where it his teeth, but then Yanchen moves, just the slightest bit to fit the curve of his mouth – and suddenly something inside him bursts and melts, turning him warm from the inside out.

 

Before he can start to contemplate on what is transpiring, an avalanche of soil buries down the question along with their bodies.

 

 

64

 

“Fuck,” Yanchen spits as he jerks his head backwards, not even flinching when it greets the wall with a loud thump. “What’s next, a tsunami?”

 

Zhengting only pays half mind to his ranting, eyes glazed. He tells himself he should be more upset by the fact that they survived two waves of earthquakes only to be killed by a landslide, but the human emotion is a mystery and his priority apparently lies in staring at Yanchen’s mouth like it’s the only solution to the sheer confusion wracking his brain.

 

It might as well be, because Yanchen notices – of course he does – and halts his speech. He gulps, tugging Zhengting’s eyes down to his Adam’s apple.

 

“I’ll… have to ask you to pretend it didn’t happen.”

 

His head snaps up, something akin to humiliation surging past his skin. He tries to blurt something out before the vines could wind tighter around his chest, but Yanchen beats him to it.

 

“As far as first kisses go, that wasn’t exactly the best impression I could make,” he grins, sheepish.

 

Zhengting wants so badly to hit him, to scream, but all that comes out of him is a whimper.

 

“Can I get another chance?”

 

“I hate you.”

 

Yanchen’s smile grows even brighter. He walks over and laughs when Zhengting slaps his reaching hand yet makes no move to scoot away. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

 

The second time goes more or less similarly to the scenario he’s daydreamed in passing, despite escalating at a pace he didn’t dare let his mind get into. Zhengting yelps when he feels Yanchen’s tongue licking past his lips, giggling as he leans back. Yanchen takes one look at him and chases after his mouth fervently, tenderly.

 

“I’ve been wanting to do that for a while,” admits Yanchen when they finally separate. They’re still in each other’s space, yet Zhengting wants nothing more than to get closer.

 

“Me too.”

 

Yanchen cocks his eyebrow. Zhengting shuts his upcoming reply with another kiss. Partly because whatever Yanchen has to say is bound to get him embarrassed, partly because he really, really likes kissing Yanchen.

 

“Fourth time’s the charm,” he mutters, twinkles lining up his eyes and laced in his voice.

 

It has Yanchen diving in for a fifth, sixth, seventh.

 

>> 

 

72

 

“What do you think will happen after? When we make it. If we ever make it.”

 

It’s not like Zhengting hasn’t thought of the very same question multiple times before. He just doesn’t expect Yanchen to ask it when they’re huddled below the benches, waiting for the first wave of earthquake to end.

 

“I don’t know,” he answers truthfully, the only way he dares to. There’s a best-case scenario he’s conjured up, but somehow he doesn’t think they could just pick up their lives where they left off as is. So he goes further down the list of possibilities – from bad to worse and worst. Because he’s realised, with a sinking dread, that more than this loop, losing Yanchen has become the greater fear.

 

>> 

 

89

 

Yanchen is unusually quiet when they revert. No teasing comments, no expressions of anger. Not even a frustrated punch, like he did once when an altercation with the rescuers got them killed in a freak accident. Zhengting wound up wrapping a handkerchief around his broken knuckles, securing the cloth with a shoelace. Sniggering as he tied a lopsided ribbon and placed a loud smooch over it. Yanchen repaid him with soft pecks all over his cheeks, and Zhengting could only giggle, titter and return the favour.

 

Now, he pretends it doesn’t sting too much when Yanchen flinches back from his touch.

 

“Sorry,” mutters Yanchen, but the word is hollow.

 

“You’re not,” he bites.

 

They’ve sworn off lying, no matter how trivial. Yanchen was the one to propose the idea in an attempt to get Zhengting to open up to him. Not once did he think there’d come a time the promise would be used the other way around.

 

“Talk to me, Yanchen. Tell me.”

 

Although Yanchen still refuses to lift up his head, he waits. Sooner or later, Zhengting knows he’s going to start speaking.

 

“I could’ve hung on longer.”

 

Zhengting’s shoulders droop in an instant, his heart falling. He hates how Yanchen always blames himself for something he couldn’t control.

 

“That’s not–”

 

“No, I-I really could have. But I let go.”

 

Despite managing to avoid the areas most severely impacted, they couldn’t completely outrun the landslide. Both were clinging to a tree as the soil around them began sliding, until there was no more underneath their feet and the landscape slanted into a steep angle. One of his arms was wrapped around Yanchen’s torso, helping to support his weight.

 

“I saw you, and–”

 

Zhengting had smiled when Yanchen turned to him. His back bled and bruised from a rough landing and Yanchen’s right elbow was essentially broken, hanging limply by his side, but the tree – thick and deep-rooted – endured against the current. It was the longest they had lasted so far, and for the first time a plausible end seemed to be within reach.

 

Then Yanchen’s grip started slipping. Zhengting felt the weight under his arm increase rapidly. He hadn't been fast enough to grab him back, but he was quick to let go and follow the fall.

 

Now, sitting across Yanchen watching him struggle to word his thoughts, Zhengting knows he would still do the same.

 

He puts his hand over the clenched fists, allowing a small smile when Yanchen doesn't push away. The motion seems to spark up enough courage for Yanchen to look at him, and what he sees has Zhengting’s breath hitching in his throat. It’s the kind of raw emotion that throws him back to the time Yanchen spills about his first death. It feels like both a lifetime and an instant ago.

 

Yanchen starts, the most unsure Zhengting has ever heard him be.

 

“Whatever happens, can you promise not to forget me when this is all over?”

 

His mouth falls open to free up a held breath. They’re both so stupid, Zhengting thinks. So he laughs even as tears pool in his eyes and whispers the answer to Yanchen’s lips.

 

“Only if you do the same.”

 

>> 

 

96

 

Orange glow seeps over the muted blue that has become his world. Sunrise – it coats the contours of Yanchen’s face with soft warmth, painting him a golden hue. It’s the birth of a new day. Cast in colours they’ve been deprived of for so long, everything looks surreal to his eyes.

 

Zhengting runs his fingers over Yanchen’s cheek and curls them around a calloused thumb when Yanchen catches his hand to kiss it. They’re lying on bare soil, bodies cooling down, spent and wounded but light from the thrill of the escape.

 

“I’ve never been much of a nature man,” Yanchen states, “but it sure is pretty.”

 

Zhengting hums his agreement. Sunrise, to him, used to mark the start of a schedule. Wake up before the sun is up and be ready by the time it is. Practice, practice, practice until it disappears, well into the night, until the moon becomes his sole companion. It had been worth it, he thought.

 

Like the last drop of water on a full cup, the resolution comes to him in a silent switch. He untangles his fingers from Yanchen’s and props himself up, giving no indication to the pain shooting up his ankle. Zhengting has grown accustomed to ignoring it.

 

Light steps start out hesitant, but soon as muscle memory jolts through his veins, he lets it overtake his body. The soil pushes on the balls of his feet. The wind splits and swirls around his limbs. His blood pumps with the sheer, simple joy he’d lost somewhere along the path of chasing perfection. Zhengting feels electric. He closes his eyes and imagines the stage, the lights, and the music. The only audience he’ll ever need is standing right before him.

 

Flicks of sweat hit the ground when he bows deeply, gratefully. The sound of clapping grows gradually closer. Yanchen stops a step away from him.

 

“Beautiful,” he says as Zhengting rises.

 

Zhengting laughs and throws his arms around Yanchen. “So are you.” He can’t feel the ground beneath his feet anymore, and soon enough the loss of feelings creeps up to his legs. He welcomes it by immersing into the embrace. “Thank you, Yanchen.”

 

He would have loved to stay like this forever.

 

Yanchen slowly pulls away. Zhengting wipes at the dampness below his eyes, watching the traces of tears fade through his translucent fingers. Hands clasp over his own, seeking reassurance and giving some in return.

 

“So, this is it, I guess,” smiles Yanchen.

 

Zhengting holds on to him, hoping to convey the feelings he couldn’t put in words through his eyes.

 

“Don’t let go,” he asks, even as their hands disappear.

 

“Never.”

 

One last smile, one last kiss, faint and feathery. He feels it still.

 

“I’ll wait for you on the other side.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you’ve made it to the end, thank you for reading! This has been sitting in my draft for months and was written over scattered time, so I apologise for the inconsistency and mood changes lmao. I tried to focus on the plot but alas I’m terrible at writing real conflict/confrontation or anything remotely serious. Near the end I sorta gave up so the cheese and fluff jumped out through the cracks sobs forgive me. 
> 
> This AU, as well as the opening prologue, is borrowed from the one-shot manga L∞P. Basically people who died with regrets too strong get trapped in this loop-limbo-realm where they have to resolve their regrets before they can pass peacefully. Feel free to hit me up if there’s any confusion, I love discussions! :DD


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